A lot of us seem to have gotten our hands mangled by animals.
As soon as I can get Grancey to get the camera, I'll have her take a photo of the back of my head. When I was two, we were watching The Outer Limits in the family den, and I got too terrified. I ran for the kitchen door, which was one of those restaurant-style swinging doors that opened both ways. As I hit the door, my big sister hit it from the other side coming INTO the room, and she's 10 years older (yes, Bill O'Rights, THAT sister). Even though I was running forward, the back of my head was the first thing to hit the ground, and that's never a good thing.
My head popped open like a watermelon, and my father scooped me up and loaded me into the car. They drove me to the doctor's house, and he had them hold me down in his recliner while he stitched up the back of my head.
There is still a scar back there, and the hair that grows from that spot is brown, even though the rest of my hair is fully redheaded.
/waiting breathlesly for Clavus to find this thread
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Living is easy with eyes closed.
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